


Little Lamb

by rizcriz



Series: tumblr is dying time to get compiling [18]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: It's Quentins birthday, and Eliot just wants him to be happy.It's not his fault things go wrong.





	Little Lamb

Remarkably, it’d been Margo’s idea to head into the city and take Quentin to an arcade for his birthday. “He’s a nerd,” She said, “Nerds like games. And if it’ll make him laugh, at least, why not?”

And Eliot wasn’t about to argue, especially with Quentin curled up on the couch downstairs, pillow tucked up against his chest and gaze lost off in some fantasy of Fillory. At least with this they were able to help get him out of his head.

Getting Quentin to agree to go with them? That was an entirely different feat on its own. He didn’t want to get up, or get dressed. He barely wanted to eat. So, Margo cast a puppeteer spell, and made him do everything and then spelled him through the portal. Not the best start to a night on the town, but once they broke through the Brakebills barrier, something seemed to click. Maybe it was the pressure of expecting the depression to be gone because of the magic. The dark, smelly alleyways of New York certainly don’t emit that sense of magic and whimsy they’d find everywhere they looked at Brakebills.

And the moment they step into the arcade, this small, gentle smile flits across Quentins lips, but he quickly looks away and heads over to the coin machine. Margo elbows Eliot smugly and follows after him.

From then, it doesn’t take long for Quentin to lose himself in the games and – to Eliots surprise – his competitive nature. They race on all the racing games four times. It turns out Margos a master at skeeball, and Eliots a reflex genius, gaining nearly 2,000 tickets from one quick move.

It’s when Margo disappears to the bathroom – though Eliot suspects she’s slipped off with the guy she’s been eyeing for the last thirty minutes – that trouble seems to hit. He’s watching Quentin, amused, playing on one of the claw machine, desperately trying to get a lamb to no avail. Eliot chuckles as Quentin hits the glass in frustration before finally making his way across the floor and sneaking up behind him.

“You know,” he murmurs, grabbing onto Quentins shoulders as he steps up to him, “Typically the wolf goes after the sheep. What’d the little lamb do to you?”

“Other than refuse to get caught?” Quentin looks over his shoulder at him with shining eyes, and Eliots breath catches in his throat. Jesus, he’s  _happy_.

That’s new.

It’s nice.

Maybe nice isn’t the right word.

Heart stopping might be better.

Ridiculous is probably the best word. Yeah. Ridiculous. And amazing.

“Other than that, yes,” Eliot laughs, moving around to his side, hand sliding across Quentins back as he does so.

“Nothing. I think. I just like it.”

“Why?”

Quentin shrugs, frowning down at his empty coin cup. “Maybe I just like things with curly hair.”

Eliots brow quirks as he lets his gaze wonder over to the lamb in its sacrificial cage, waiting to be swooped up by some lucky wolves. “Oh?”

Nodding, Quentin picks up the coin cup and turns around. “I’ll be right back. Make sure nobody tries to win Edgar. I was so close.” He tosse a smile over his shoulder and heads across the arcade to the coin machine.

And maybe it’s the little pep in his step, or the echoing buzz of his laughter in Eliot’s ears, but whatever it is – Eliot turns around and stares intently at the claw machine. He’s going to get his depressed little wolf his god damned lamb.

And he’s not going to waste a single coin on it because he’s a motherfucking Magicians, baby.

Okay. Maybe the Terminator and Sylvester Stallone games are still buzzing through his nervous system, because he has never on his life called anyone or anything baby. But that’s not the point. The point is the cute little innocent lamb is staring up at him defiantly, ready to take a stand.

He’s at war with a stuffed animal.

Jesus.

He narrows his eyes, thinks of the lamb flying up and plopping down to the drawer so he can surprise Quentin with it and see those shining eyes again – and maybe it’s the drifting thoughts to chocolatey brown eyes and stupid long hair, and ugly sweaters that somehow accentuate Quentins body, he’s not sure.

But next thing he knows the lamb comes crashing through the glass, shattering it like a fucking bullet and zooms past Eliots head, crashing through the air until it can plop safely in Quentins hands five feet away. Quentin looks from the lamb, to Eliot, and back. His eyes are wide and doe like, and Eliots suddenly worried he’s ruined Quentins birthday, and his overall happy demeanor.

Fuck, can’t he do anything without fucking it up?

Quentin strolls across the arcade floor, grabs Eliot by the elbow, and drags him out of the building and into the alley – where, surprise surprise, Margo’s waiting. She’s got a slushee large enough to hydrate an family of six, and a bag of candy, while she sits on a clearly magicked clean spot on the alley ground. Quentin stares at her for a long a moment, points a finger, shakes his head, and turns back to Eliot.

“Oops?” Eliot supplies.

And just as Eliots sure he’s about to get yelled at, or Quentins going to burst into tears, Quentin actually starts laughing. Full on belly laughs, that shake his entire body and echo through the whole of the alley. Margo looks up from the magazine on her lap, quirks an eyebrow and told her head at Eliot, silently asking what the hell?

And if that weren’t enough to surprise him today, Quentin leans up and pulls him down into the tightest hug Eliots ever experienced - all warmth and fluttery heart – the silly little lamb pressed up beneath them. Hesitantly, Eliots arms come around to wrap around Quentins back, until he realizes Quentin’s not letting go any time soon, and he finds himself tightening his hold as well, closing his eyes and burying his face into the crook between Quentins neck and shoulder.

It’s standing there, with a fearlessly happy Quentin holding on to him with little chuckles still bubbling out of him, that Eliot decides he might be ready to tell him how to feel.

Not here, not now, not like this.

But when they get back to Brakebills, when the magic of well, the least magical place on earth wears off, and they’re back in their own messed up version of reality. When Quentin can’t convince himself it’s because of this bubble of time.

Yeah.

That’s when he’ll tell him he’s in love with him.

Back on campus, where it all began.


End file.
